


Blackhearted

by TJade



Series: Grim Fairy Tales [2]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:00:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22684372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TJade/pseuds/TJade
Summary: One heart forever broken,Another always black,But broken hearts can heal andEven monsters can love back.
Series: Grim Fairy Tales [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1631791
Kudos: 9





	1. Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first knew not that her broken heart  
> Would steal his black one away,  
> The second she found with a heart like her own  
> And decided by his side she'd stay.

_Earlier days_

Grim slashed wildly with her scythe, knowing her foe could not be beaten, could never be beaten. There was a ringing, an incessant high-pitched sound that tightened around her brow and blurred her vision even before she was kicked to the ground.

Once, she had thought of herself as a monster. This creature showed her how wrong she had been. Gashadokuro, an amalgamation of the unburied who had withered away from starvation or been slain in battle. Perhaps another less familiar with forms of the undead would have assumed it to be merely a giant risen from its grave, but the Reaper knew better. Giants did not have eyes staring out from their bones. Giants did not have skeletal hands reaching out from their stomachs, grasping and clutching until something was finally caught and drawn in. Giants did not have flickering forms that split into a thousand bodies crushed together before reforming into one horrifying abomination.

She screamed, her blade hacking at a neck as thick as a tree trunk. She screamed, though no sound could drown out the ringing in her head. She screamed, bracing herself as she was lifted into the air, knowing the fate of anyone unfortunate enough to be caught by the gashadokuro.

Then the ground seemed to collapse beneath them, and Grim crashed back into earth, scrambling to her feet as she saw the monster be dragged down by a thousand shadowy hands.

“Thank you, darling,” she said, not quite managing to keep her voice from shaking. “I didn’t mean to lose my head there.”

Pitch scoffed, making the skeletal beast disappear into his lair with a flick of his wrist. “And what are you thanking me for? Saving your nonexistent life?”

She frowned. “Forgive me trying for levity after _nearly getting my head bitten off_. I know that couldn’t have killed me, but I rather prefer keeping my head attached to my neck. Anyway, what do you want with that crime against nature? If you really want a pet, I’d suggest starting out with a dog. You could borrow one of my grims for a bit if you like, see if you’re ready for the responsibility.”

Pitch shrugged. “I prefer being the source of fear around here. I’ll likely release the thing into some remote forest, or maybe the bottom of the sea. There’s enough leviathans in the ocean depths as is; one more shouldn’t cause too much of a stir.”

“Mm. Aren’t you the philanthropist.”

“Well, some rather dubious counsel of mine once recommended I protect my territory if I wished to keep it.”

Grim threw back her head and laughed.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_Earliest days_

Grim crept around the caverns, staring up at the cages that hung empty from the ceiling. An impulse seized her, and she climbed into one, tracing her fingers over the metalwork surrounding her.

There was a loud _clang_ as the cage door swung shut, and Grim flinched.

“What did you think was going to happen?” a dry voice asked her.

She looked up to see the shadow man staring through the cage bars, eyes glinting gold.

“What were these meant for?” she asked.

“Catching pesky intruders,” he snarked. “Good to see they’re still functioning properly.”

“And what do you do with pesky intruders? Suck their blood? Because there might be an issue here if that’s the case.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Please. I’m the Boogeyman, not a vampire.”

“I was actually thinking more along the lines of a spider.”

“Oh?”

Around them, their shadows stretched and swelled, growing legs and skittering across the stone of the walls. The Boogeyman grinned with all his teeth and leaned forward, menace underlying his tone like a hint of poison in honey. “Are you scared of spiders?”

“Not really,” she answered nonchalantly, watching the dark shapes crawl about with a detached interest. “Spiders die same as any other insect.”

His smile melted into a frown. “Hmph. And what sort of insect are _you_?”

“The kind that ushers souls from this life. A very rare specimen, too: one of a kind, if I’m not much mistaken.”

The Boogeyman’s eyes widened, gold shifting to silver. “You’re the Grim Reaper.”

She tilted her head as she looked at him, an amused smile tugging at her lips. “What did you think I was, some sort of butterfly?”

He stepped back, circling the cage appraisingly. “Hardly. You haven’t the right wings for it.”

Grim stretched out her wings as much as she could, filling the cage with a spread of black feathers. “So now what?”

The Boogeyman stopped walking around her and faced her directly.

“It might be a bit late for it, but I believe some proper introductions are in order.” He gave a slight bow and held out his hand, palm up. “Pitch Black.”

Grim reached between the cage bars and shook it genially. “Grim Reaper. Hypothetically, my friends would call me Grim.”

Pitch eyed her self-deprecating expression critically. “Hypothetically? Do you command so little respect from your peers that they call you whatever they wish regardless of your input?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that. I just don’t have any friends.”

He snorted. “The Grim Reaper, friendless? Shocking.”

“Be nice,” she reprimanded him.

Pitch spread his arms expressively. “And what reason have I to be? I’m the Boogeyman, my dear- I’m not exactly renowned for my manners. You’re not exactly in a position to be making demands, either- how exactly do you intend to get yourself out of there?”

Grim pushed lightly against the door. Finding it locked, she shrugged. “By asking very nicely to be let go?”

The Nightmare King shot her a unconvinced stare.

She sighed. “Well, it was worth a shot.”

Grim vanished.

Pitch stumbled backwards in shock, looking around wildly as he narrowly avoided falling into the surrounding chasms.

“Mind your step, dear.”

He turned, and there she was, standing across from him on a separate area of rock. She tutted and wagged a finger at him.

“Really, did you think Death could be contained by a puny little cage? Pesky intruder I may be, but my intrusions aren’t so pesky because of dumb luck,” she commented, putting a hand on her hip.

Pitch laughed. “Cheeky, aren’t you?”

“I’m the Grim Reaper, darling. I can afford to be, unlike you. Do you know, monsters are running amok all over nowadays? Your kind is a dime a dozen, Boogeyman. You really need to work on branding.”

The Nightmare King sneered. “‘My kind?’ What makes you think there are any others out there who compare to _me_? I was the first to make the mortals run in terror from the dark, and I’ll be here long after any other of ‘my kind.’”

Grim shrugged. “Just saying: if you don’t wish to be left behind, lay claim to your territory early.”

“Lay claim?” he snarled. “I _own_ this world. Those pretenders lurking in the dark could never hope to even _touch_ me.”

She smiled, and for the first time Pitch noticed her odd teeth. Strange, pointed, even, _sharp_.

“Well, if you wish to keep your territory, I’d recommend letting those ‘pretenders’ know who actually owns it. The world’s a rather large investment; it’s worth protecting your stock in it, yes?”

Before he could answer, she was gone.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_Earlier days_

Sean held the bottle tightly in one hand, his other clenched into a fist.

_It won’t take much. Just a sip. Just a swallow._

His hands were warm in their gloves, but he could still feel the chill of glass against his palm as he uncorked the bottle.

_You won’t hurt anyone ever again._

It had only been a slight brush of skin, the barest touch through a hole in his glove as he pressed a coin into her palm. That was all it took.

Sean remembered the desperation in her eyes as she threw aside her basket, flowers scattering among the dust of the road. The feel of her fingers clawing at his clothes as she tried to force her mouth on his, the heat of her skin seeping through his gloves as she grabbed at his hands.

There had been passerby. Some had looked askance and scurried away, scandalized at such a wanton display from this ‘loose girl.’ Others, mostly men, had laughed as they strolled past, laughed as Sean struggled to pry her off. “Lucky lad,” one had commented as the girl tore his shirt.

_Lucky lad._

Was that luck, to be knocked onto your back and choked by a tongue being shoved into your mouth? Was that luck, to be stripped and clawed as you frantically tried to get away from some poor soul you’d meant to help by buying a flower?

He’d escaped. He always escaped, in the end. Always ran away to leave his victims to suffer and die as they sought after him, yearning for his touch.

 _Just one kiss,_ some of them had said. _Just one._

Sean had long since stopped believing that they’d actually stop after ‘just one kiss.’ He’d yet to meet anyone who’d really meant it.

His hand trembled as he lifted the bottle to his lips.

“Is it a girl?”

Sean dropped the bottle, and cyanide spilled out into the grass. He stared at the disappearing liquid in shock.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone kneel next to him. She was tall, whoever she was- tall, and pale, which was only enhanced by the fact that she seemed to be dressed entirely in black.

“Oops, bad luck. Oh well- whoever it was, she wasn’t worth it. Or is it a he? He wasn’t worth your life, darling. They? Wait, are they dead? Well, I’m sure they wouldn’t want you to throw away your life on their account.”

Sean looked up incredulously, and his breath caught.

It was _her_.

He opened his mouth, a thousand words rushing up his throat, but only one made it out.

“Please,” he whispered.

The Grim Reaper tilted her head, her raven hair spilling over her shoulders. “Please what?”

“Take me.”

She squinted at him. “Take you? Take you where?”

Sean laughed weakly and put his head in his hands. “Is it so hard to understand?”

“It wouldn’t be if you’d tell me outright, darling.”

He lifted his head and smiled brokenly, his sight blurring as tears ran down his cheeks. “I want to die.”

“Why?” she pressed, setting a hand on his back.

He flinched.

The Reaper withdrew her hand. “You’re not human, yes? You’re a gancanagh. Fairy like you, you’ve plenty of years left, and that’s assuming you ever die. Why’d you ever wish me to take you?”

Sean sniffed and wiped his face with his sleeve. “I’m tired of killing people.”

“What, do you run around driving knives into people’s backs? That’s a fairly easy habit to break, dearest.”

He glared at her. “No, I-I poison them.”

“Well, if you need tips on how to refrain from dropping poison into people’s tea-”

Sean rose to his feet, his leaden misery heated by fury at the Reaper’s dispassionate attitude.

“I’m tired of being the reason why people are dying, Reaper! You said it yourself- I’m a gancanagh. Every time someone touches my skin, they’re addicted to me. They need to be all over me, right up until the moment they die.”

He clenched his hands into fists again, and felt his fingernails bite through the fabric of his gloves.

“Do you know what happens when a person’s addicted to a gancanagh, Reaper? They burn up from the inside out. They go mad, and if they don’t break their necks or throw themselves into a river they die of fever.”

The Reaper pointed to his hands. “Love, you’re bleeding.”

Sean loosened his fists, opening his palms to look at them. Four little marks in each hand welled up with red.

He fell to his knees, hiding his face again, feeling the sting of saltwater against the cuts on his palms.

“I’m tired of hurting people, Reaper,” he croaked. “I’m tired of people dying because of me.”

Sean knelt there for a long while before looking up and finding himself alone.

His sobs were not silent. They were loud, and messy, and childish. His eyes and his nose ran freely, and his sleeves were stained with tears and snot.

There was a sudden warmth at his feet, and he glanced down to see a furry black mass curling around his shoes.

“I’m afraid my grims are quite immune to your charms, gancanagh,” a soft voice remarked. “Whether I am is uncertain, so I’ll refrain from offering you a comforting hug.”

Sean exhaled slowly and peeled off his gloves, burying his fingers in the dog’s thick black fur. He pressed his cheek behind a floppy ear and closed his eyes.

“You’re not going to let me die, are you,” he murmured.

“Oh, I’ll allow you to die. I can’t do otherwise. But that’ll come in its own time, and I’m not about to let you put any extra work on my plate prematurely.”

Sean opened one eye to stare up at his non-furred companion.

“You’re not much a fan of your job, are you, Reaper?”

“I’m not much a fan of being called Reaper either, my sweet. It’s Grim.”

He shrugged. “Name’s Sean. Not up to shaking hands right now, sorry.”

The gancanagh, the grim, and the Reaper sat there a while, watching the sun dip below the horizon.


	2. Unsolicited Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I am a monster," she said to him.  
> "You are," he told her, "But see  
> Although you cannot change what you are  
> You can decide what you will be."

_Latest days_

Jack was pretty used to being alone in the dark by now. Three centuries of being invisible tended to adjust you to things that probably weren't entirely healthy to be used to.

So it was a little jarring to realize that he wasn't alone anymore.

He turned, but only caught a glimpse of a moving shadow.

"Hey Pitch," he called, then paused. "Or is it Grim?

"Neither, actually."

Jack turned back around and suddenly forgot how to breathe.

The figure in front of him was dressed all in black, just like his previous guesses. She had a gray pallor like Pitch, and long dark hair like Grim had possessed up until recently. She was shorter than them, though still taller than him, enough to be intimidating. She was also more traditionally beautiful than either of the two he'd assumed her to be. Pitch was tall and dark, but he wasn't exactly what Jack would call handsome. Grim was striking in her own way, but her beauty was more akin to that of a storm's- lovely to look at, daunting to approach. This girl was alluring, with a slight, youthful figure and a mischievous smile.

None of that was why the sight of her had stolen the air from Jack's lungs.

For one thing, her eyes were red. Not red like she'd had a bad night's sleep, either- her irises were the hue of rubies. That would've been off-putting enough by itself, but Jack almost didn't notice her blood-colored gaze because of the second thing.

Oh, yeah, the second thing. Her torso was that of a skeleton's, with a pulsing black heart set behind her ribs. With every beat, a tear down the middle of the heart widened and narrowed, squeezing something between a liquid and a gas out of the pumping muscle.

Jack was pretty used to seeing monsters, but this girl was unsettling, and not because she kept smiling serenely while her heart pumped out watery black smoke.

...Okay, maybe part of it was because of that.

"Um," he said eloquently.

Her smile widened, and she held out her hand in a way that made Jack suspect she expected him to kiss it. "You're a friend of Grim's?"

Jack hesitated before giving her an awkward handshake. "Uh, yeah. You know her?"

The girl kept grinning. He wondered briefly if she'd been cursed to have her face stuck like that. "Grim and I go back a ways, though not as much as some of her other acquaintances. I doubt I'm as close to her as the Boogeyman, for example."

"I mean, Grim's married to the Boogeyman, so..."

The girl laughed, her ruby eyes flashing with amusement. "Married? Really? That crooked-toothed fogey actually asked her to be his wife? And she accepted? Wonders never cease."

Jack wrinkled his nose, smirking with a confidence he was miles away from feeling. "Wow, never heard anyone call Pitch that before. I'll have to use it next time I see him. 'Hey, go get some braces, you old fogey!'"

The girl grinned, and Jack noted that even though her teeth weren't like Grim's, they were a lot sharper than any human's ought to be. "Ha. Grim actually recommended both of us get braces. I followed her advice- Mr. Black did not."

"Tooth would approve. Of you, I mean, not Pitch. Dude needs a dental plan."

She raised an eyebrow, appraising him in a way that made Jack want to squirm. "Your teeth are quite nice. Did you ever need braces? No? Count yourself lucky- they're a pain, albeit a pain worth suffering if you want a nice clean bite."

Jack flinched slightly at the emphasis she put on the word bite. "Uh-huh."

Her eyes fixed on his.

"You're not fazed by much, are you?" she drawled, her head tilting lazily.

He chuckled. "I've seen a lot."

"A pity," she sighed. "Prey is so much more fun when it's scared."

Before he could process that statement, the girl was pressed against him, her hand forcing his chin up as she bared her too-sharp teeth and dipped her mouth to his neck.

"Ah-ah-ah!"

The girl was pulled away, and Jack found himself standing behind Grim, her hand on his shoulder as the Reaper wagged an admonishing finger at Creepy Girl.

"Look for a bite elsewhere, darling," Grim warned. "He's off-limits."

Creepy Girl gave a childish pout, her red eyes wide and innocent as she looked pleadingly up at the Reaper. "Come on, Ree- you owe me one."

"Not this one, Mel."

Creepy Girl raised an eyebrow, frowning at 'Ree' before looking back to Jack and smirking.

"Be seeing you around, Little Boy Blue," she crooned, giving him a flirtatious wink.

A giant skeleton appeared behind her, and she backed up so that she was enclosed in its ribcage. Before he could say anything, both she and the random skeleton disappeared.

Grim turned to him, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze before releasing it. "Are you quite alright, mon flocon de neige?"

Jack nodded, mulling over the thousand questions he wanted to ask before settling on the one to first leave his mouth. "Who was that?"

Grim fiddled with the chain around her neck. "Melinoe. I don't suppose you've heard of her?"

"Nope. Should I have?"

Grim smiled, rolling her hourglass pendant between her finger and thumb. "Hardly. I don't think she's been around even as long as you, verglas. She's gained a little notoriety lately, though a human that could actually see her would certainly be a rarity."

"So what is she?" Jack asked. "I don't think I've ever seen a monster with that smoky heart thing going on."

The Reaper chewed her lip. "I'm not quite sure anymore, dear."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_Later days_

Sean had seen the girl lingering around the apartment building before. When he'd first seen her he'd thought her a pretty little thing, though the more he saw her the more he became certain that initial assessment wasn't entirely accurate. The girl was pretty, yes, but he suspected she'd be near six feet if she wasn't curled into herself, evidently trying to be as small as possible.

The girl had tended to scurry off whenever he'd attempted approaching her, so Sean was surprised when she timidly walked up to him, clutching her ragged gray shawl around her shoulders.

"Pardon me," she whispered, and the gancanagh caught a glimpse of her sharp, crooked teeth. "Do...do you know...?"

She trailed off, and he was about to prompt her to ask her question again when she took a deep breath and spoke, her voice slightly louder.

"They say the Reaper lives here."

He nodded. "They say correctly. Do you seek her out?"

The girl nodded back, her crimson eyes burning. "Where is she?"

Sean crossed his arms. "She's not a hitman, lass. She can't be killed, either- put any thoughts about revenge or immortality out of your head."

"I-it's not-"

The girl wrapped her arms around herself, her long black hair spilling down, veiling her face. "It's not like that. I-I don't want to not die. I'm supposed-"

Her shawl slipped, and Sean caught a glimpse of her collarbone, uncovered by skin.

The girl saw him blink and bowed her head slightly.

"Do you believe me now?" she rasped.

Sean beckoned her to follow him and made his way to the apartment stairs.

Grim had chosen apartment 444: her idea of a joke. At least it's easy to remember, he mused as he knocked on the door. "You there, a ghrá?"

The door opened, and there she stood, gazing at him like he was the only thing in the world. "A mhuirnín!"

Grim reached forward, then hesitated.

Sean smiled gently and spread his arms.

She grinned and swept him up in a hug so enthusiastic that she lifted him off the floor. "Oh, it's been forever, a chuisle!"

He laughed, mussing her hair. "Two days, a stór."

The Reaper waved a dismissive hand as she set him down. "Semantics. Now, who's your dearg-due friend?" she asked as she glanced over at the girl.

The girl shrank further into herself. "Is it that obvious?"

Grim shrugged sympathetically. "Frankly my darling, if I saw a living human with skin that color I'd be concerned for their health. Now, is there something you wanted to see me about, dear?"

The girl blinked uncertainly at the gancanagh, who nodded encouragingly and gestured for her to step into the room.

She obeyed, staring up at the Reaper with wide red eyes.

Grim sat in a cushy armchair and indicated for her guest to do the same. "If you're hoping for assistance with whatever caused you to remain on this earth, I'm afraid I can't help you. It might help to talk about it with someone, though."

The girl sank into the chair opposite Grim and shook her head vigorously. "I don't need vengeance. I already had mine. There's no reason I should still be here."

"I sense a 'however' attached to the end of that sentence."

The dearg-due inclined her head. "However, I still remain. I've tried keeping myself from feeding, drowning, burning, choking. There's several guillotines out of service because my neck refused to split, and even a cord of iron couldn't break it. I don't..."

She blinked again, wiping at her eyes as her voice trembled. "I don't understand why I'm still here. I don't want to be here anymore. There's nothing that should be keeping me here, and yet..."

Grim patted the girl's shoulder as she sniffled. "There there, darling. It's not so bad, is it? Your life was cut off rather early- an extended existence is hardly the end of the world."

"I don't want to be a monster," the girl replied with some fire. "I'm meant to be dead. I should be dead. There's no reason I should want to be otherwise, so why am I here?"

Grim frowned. "You're not necessarily a monster, darling-"

"I'm a dearg-due, a blood drinker. I thirst for the life in others' veins. What else could I be?"

The Reaper bit her lip. "A ghrá?" she appealed Sean.

He walked from the doorway over to where the girl sat. "What's your name, lass?"

"Melinoe," she answered, clasping her hands in her lap nervously.

"Melinoe. You can't help what you are now: you never had a choice in what you've become. But you do have a choice in how you carry yourself, regardless of what your nature might demand of you. A monster? Perhaps. Monstrous? That's up to you."

Melinoe stared at her linked fingers. "My only desire is to be as I should be."

Grim crossed her arms. "Well, I don't know why you're hanging around if your business on earth is truly complete-"

Melinoe's eyes shot open. "Complete?"

The Reaper took the girl's hand. "Did you remember something you've yet to do here, sweetheart?"

"No, I-"

The girl divested herself of her shawl, revealing her bare ribcage. Over where her heart ought to have been, two ribs were missing.

"I'm incomplete," she breathed, her gaze alight with new understanding. "I'm not whole. I need to be whole."

Sean raised an eyebrow. "Could that really be the reason?"

"I've seen other poor souls stuck on this side of the great divide for less," Grim commented. "Well, my dear, I wish you luck finding your missing pieces.""

Melinoe nodded, rising from the chair determinedly. "Thank you, my lady."

Grim chuckled. "Oh, don't start in with the titles, love. Call me Grim. The man far too handsome to be accompanying the likes of me over there is Sean."

Sean tipped an imaginary cap and smirked at Grim. "Are you doubting my good taste, a mhuirnín?"

"Mim forbid, a stór. Come along, Melinoe- my silver-tongued flatterer of a husband can go charm possible leads out of his friends at Grogoch's House. I'll take you to meet a contact of mine who might know something about your lost bones."

Sean blew a kiss to the Reaper, who snatched it out of the air as she ushered the dearg-due out through the door.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Melinoe blinked at the sudden darkness surrounding them. "This 'contact' of yours...are they another dearg-due? I'm guessing they must be a vampire of some sort, judging from their living quarters."

Grim cackled. "Oh, darling, don't say that to his face. He might fancy himself a lord of the dark, but my acquaintance does not care to be called a vampire."

Melinoe nodded, suppressing her bewilderment as best she could. "I...see."

"I don't see how you can, considering how dark it is in here. I suppose your night vision's improved quite a bit after your little transformation, yes? Ah, there he is!"

Melinoe blanched as she glimpsed the figure to whom Grim was referring. He was tall and dark as any creature of the night she'd encountered, with a sickly slate pallor not unlike that of the undead, but she knew he wasn't risen from the grave. She knew that although he had the shape of a mortal, he was anything but- the first and the greatest of the monsters that ruled after the sun went down.

Grim went up to him and tapped him on the shoulder. "Pitch, darling, I need to ask you some questions on behalf of my friend here."

The Nightmare King turned, his silver eyes flashing as he glared down at the newest intruder in his domain.

"Who's this?" he asked disinterestedly, his nose wrinkling as if he'd been presented with a dead insect.

Grim smiled, pleased as a purring cat as she presented her unfortunate catch. "A new friend of mine. Introduce yourself, darling- he doesn't bite, I promise."

Melinoe pulled her shawl about her shoulders as tightly as she could manage, unsure whether to meet his gaze or keep hers to the floor. "M-M-Melinoe."

The Boogeyman sneered. "And what does M-M-Melinoe want from me? I'm not some bleeding heart who'll babysit your strays, Grim."

The dearg-due flinched at the slight. Grim glanced at her charge and leaned down, whispering in her ear. "Don't let him bully you, love. He's showing off his teeth. You need to growl back or he'll walk all over you."

Melinoe smiled in spite of herself. "Wonder why he'd want to show off teeth like those."

Grim laughed, and Pitch's glare heightened.

"Is something amusing you, Reaper?" he snapped.

The Reaper nudged Melinoe gently. The dearg-due gulped.

"I-I have a question for you," she said, unable to keep herself from quivering when the Boogeyman turned his evil-eyed stare to her.

"Keep a muzzle on your pet, Grim. I'm still waiting on an answer," he snarled.

A spark of indignation flared where her heart should've been. Before she thought to stop herself, Melinoe blurted, "So am I, but you haven't let me ask my question yet."

Grim's smile of approval was almost enough to stave off the icy jolt of fear in Melinoe's heart as she saw Pitch's expression.

"And why should I?" he inquired coolly, his eyes speaking warnings that enhanced the one in his tone.

Melinoe twisted the ends of her shawl. "B-because it's why I'm here. To ask you a question."

Pitch vanished, and Melinoe jumped, nearly falling backwards into a chasm. Grim caught her by the arms and called out firmly.

"Pitch Black, if you don't get back here and answer this young lady's questions I'll come after you and make you, see if I won't!"

There was a long pause. Melinoe straightened and brushed herself off, doubting that the Nightmare King would return after being summoned like some misbehaving schoolboy.

To her surprise, a shadowy form appeared on the wall, accompanied by a calm, silken voice. "Please, Grim. When have you ever been able to make me do anything?"

Grim scowled and drew out a chain. "I'm warning you, Black."

"Or what? You'll kill me?"

The Reaper sighed, putting her free hand to her hip as she gestured with the hand grasping links of black metal. "Don't be such a smarta- don't get cute with me, darling."

"You're a scavenger, not a fighter, pet. Are you really willing to try and wear me down over one little question?" he mocked.

"If you don't cooperate, I'm going to stop talking to you."

There was another silence, more taut this time, more sharp. Melinoe flinched when it was broken, though the Boogeyman's voice was only faintly amused, his words without heat, his intonation nearly gentle.

"Mim forbid I lose the pleasure of your scintillating conversation, my dear," he teased as his shadow solidified back into his seeming-human form, his silver gaze faintly tinted golden as he eyed Melinoe with an unimpressed countenance. "What is this burning curiosity that's got you so up in arms, hm?"

"I'm trying to find my ribs," Melinoe piped up.

"I should think they're somewhere between your neck and your hips, my bemused little leech. Have you always been so uneducated as to the whereabouts of your bones, or did the knowledge escape you upon becoming a bloodsucker?"

Her cold terror melted a little under the heat of her indignation. "I know where my ribs ought to be, Boogeyman. My question is, where are they?"

Melinoe dropped her shawl, revealing her ribcage with bones free of skin and chest hollow of a heart.

The Nightmare King's eyes widened. He reached out slightly, tapping the rib above the space where the other two were missing.

"Ah, I see. How odd," he mused.

"Well?" Grim prompted.

"Well, I don't know why you came to me for answers. Mine is the realm of fear, not the dead."

Grim sighed. "It was worth a shot. My apologies, dear- I overestimated my acquaintance's helpfulness in this situation."

Pitch rolled his eyes. "As this girl seems to have done with you."

"My name is Melinoe."

His eyes flickered over to the dearg-due, examining her as she hovered between glaring up at him and curling into herself, hesitating to retrieve her shawl from the floor.

The Boogeyman waved a hand, and a shadow lifted the article of clothing from the ground to Melinoe's arms. She looked at him, startled, as Grim barked a laugh.

"There's some consolation, Melinoe my sweet," she remarked. "Even if you're dead, chivalry isn't!"

Melinoe's lips twitched as she stared into Pitch's golden-eyed gaze, fingers pinching at the hem of her shawl.

"Work on your posture," he told her sharply. "You're hardly some slouching hag. Monsters like you wield fear through intimidation. Show that you're more beautiful, act like you're more powerful, and you will be."

Grim sighed as he vanished again. "And chivalry just threw itself into its grave and had unsolicited advice cover it with dirt. He really can be decent sometimes, dear, I promise."

Melinoe tilted her head slightly, mulling over the unsolicited advice with a strange gleam in her eye. As she turned to leave with the Reaper, she straightened her back.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_Earlier days_

Sean picked up his glass of whiskey and downed it in one gulp, setting the cup down firmly and slumping onto the counter. He reached into his vest pocket and drew out the clump of pink petals he'd had pressed to his heart.

A blurry figure sat down to his right, a lean dark shape. Sean lifted his head slightly.

"Grim?" he asked faintly.

"My prospects? Yes. My name? No," answered a dry voice. "What is that?"

Sean sighed and dropped his head back onto the counter. "Moss rose."

"Hm. Is that supposed to have some significance?"

"Stands for a confession of love," the gancanagh muttered.

"In this case I'm guessing it represents love unconfessed."

Sean laughed weakly. "Regular fecking mind reader you are."

"Why read your mind when it's written so clearly on your face? Sighing over lost loves accomplishes naught, and yet your type is everywhere, mourning missed chances and opportunities lost. If you were in fear of rejection I'd be able to make something of it, but if you're hoping for a shoulder to cry on I'd suggest looking elsewhere."

Sean wrinkled his nose as he squinted irritably up at his heckler. "Aren't you fecking empathetic. Why don't you just give me a paper cut and pour some vinegar on it while you're at it?"

"I'm not known for my compassion," his undefined companion remarked. "I have excellent advice, however. Would you like to hear mine for you?"

"I have a feeling that's a rhetorical question."

"Whoever she is-"

"I didn't say I wanted to hear it."

"Whoever she is- or he, or they- get over it. If they're dead, they're dead, and if they're married, well, you should've told them sooner."

"She's not married," Sean grumbled. "And she can't die."

His 'friend' fell silent for a moment.

"You wouldn't happen to be the gancanagh Sean, would you?"

Sean blinked. "You are a fecking mind reader."

"Hardly. Just an acquaintance of the Grim Reaper, which I suspect is a trait we have in common."

Sean grunted. "You know Grim too?"

"Mm. She speaks of you often."

"Huh. What's she say?"

"That you have exceptional taste in music, that you bake marvelously and yet still can't cook an egg to save your life, that you can dance excellently as long as you're not thinking too much about it, and that you make fun of her fashion choices more than anyone who wears argyle has the right to."

"They're socks! No one can see them!"

Sean heard his companion scoff. "Ridiculous."

"Hey, like argyle's any worse than a leather jacket over flannel."

"I'm not interested enough in your fashion choices to criticize them, gancanagh. I'm simply noting that you and Grim have several traits in common, not the least of which is a particular brand of obliviousness."

Sean frowned. "Hey, I won't argue my case, but Grim's not stupid."

"I never said she was unintelligent. I said that she was oblivious, as are you."

He crossed his arms on top of the counter and rested his head on them. "Oblivious to what?"

"The fact that you're sickeningly in love with each other. Really, I've seen mortals celebrating diamond anniversaries that are less married than you two."

Sean burped. "I know she loves me."

His companion tapped his fingers on the counter frustratedly. "And you haven't told her you feel the same because...?"

Sean shrugged lamely. "Can't love her right."

"There's an incorrect method of undying devotion? You don't seem to be the stalking type."

The gancanagh smacked his lips. "I can't touch her. Never. It'd hurt her. I...it hurts everyone. It's hurt everyone, ever. Can't hold her hand without wearing gloves, can't kiss her unless it's through a scarf, can't...we couldn't...it's not happening."

Sean could feel his companion's disapproval coming off of him in waves. "Grim isn't interested in...to live with a partner without bedding them is familiar territory to her. And as long as you can live with her hugging the daylights out of you I doubt layers will prove an issue."

Sean sat up, wincing as his head spun. "Wait, really?"

"Lying to you holds no benefit for me, gancanagh. And the sooner she and you get to living your happily ever after, the sooner I can see her real sm- the sooner she stops going about with a face like one of her mutts just died."

The hopeful bubble swelling inside Sean burst, and he lay his head back on the counter. "Doesn't matter," he mumbled.

"What?"

"Doesn't matter," he repeated, just as incoherently but with an increase in volume. "There's someone else."

His companion's voice held a startled note. "Someone else?"

"Some fellow she hangs 'round with. He's mad about her- I can tell just from what I hear of him. 'He gave me a feather to mark my book. What was he carrying around a feather for?' 'I told him the crepes here are the best in the world. We keep meeting up there, but does he ever try them? No! He just sits and sips his coffee! He won't even take a bite of mine!' 'I think he's beginning to come around on puns- he was going to name them Fearlings, those things he created, but guess what? Now he calls them Nightmares! Get it, because they're horses, and- well, you could at least try to laugh at my puns. Goodness knows he doesn't.'"

Sean chuckled. "She's definitely oblivious to how he feels, at least. But they've known each other forever, from what she tells me, and when he tells her-"

"He won't."

Sean straightened, taken aback by the terse answer. "What?"

"He won't tell her," his companion repeated flatly. "If he has it his way, she'll never know how he feels."

"Why not?"

Sean couldn't see the shadowy man's face, but his companion faced away regardless, presumably hiding his expression.

"If it were between him and her loved ones, she would never choose him."

Sean rubbed his eyes and turned to the blurry figure, comprehension dawning. "Wait. You're-"

Pitch Black vanished, leaving Sean alone with an empty seat next to him and a crushed flower in his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Pitch was tall and dark, but he wasn't exactly what Jack would call handsome."
> 
> Frosty boi might have ice powers but he straight up ROASTED Pitch lol


	3. A Ghrá, A Rúnsearc

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She loved and loves a broken heart  
> Who was of life set free,  
> A blackened heart loves her, and by  
> Her side he'll always be.

_Latest days_

Pitch had debated about using the moss rose for his confession. Sean had done the same, after all, and Pitch didn't wish to be some pale imitation of Grim's former love. He certainly didn't wish to replace the gancanagh, but he was wary of whether his actions would be perceived as having that intent.

He did use it in the end, handing Grim the delicate pink bloom moments before drawing out a ring box. She didn't seem to take issue with either, fortunately. He'd actually seen the flower sitting in a vase while visiting her apartment for coffee. Neither of them had acknowledged it in words. However, Pitch was fairly sure Grim had caught him glancing over at it, though his only evidence towards such a conclusion was her maddening smirk.

Grim had interests many and varied, but her fixation on the meanings of flowers was a fairly recent one, seeded after she'd discovered that Sean was fascinated by the methods one could use to send messages through botany. Because of this, Pitch had been unwillingly subjected to several lessons on the art of Victorian flower meanings. Despite his involuntary participation, he had ended up learning a thing or two. Carnations, for instance, could have several meanings depending on the type: white ones stood for sweetness, red for heartbreak, striped for refusal, yellow for disdain.

Therefore when the Boogeyman approached the new entrance to his lair to find it surrounded by newly planted yellow carnations, he had a fairly confident guess as to who was responsible.

"Hello, little leech," he remarked boredly.

"Hello, Hobgoblin King. Run out of toddlers to scare in their cribs?"

He resisted the urge to sigh as Melinoe poked her head out from the mouth of the cave. "Don't you have anything better to do than pester me, bloodsucker?"

"Nope!" she chirped. "Heard you got hitched. Decided to settle down now that you've so little to do, hm?"

Pitch snorted as he swept by her, beginning his descent into his underground quarters. "Perhaps you should consider it. I'm sure you can railroad some poor soul down the aisle."

Melinoe shrugged, trailing after him. "Honestly I'm not sure which I'm more surprised at."

The Nightmare King turned to glare at the black-clad woman smiling in his shadow "Which of what, exactly?"

"The fact that she accepted you, or the fact that you actually gave time for Seany boy to grow cold in his grave before snapping her up."

Melinoe blinked, and Pitch was gone. She frowned and looked around. "Black?"

A hand grabbed her wrist, and Melinoe found herself slammed to the wall. White lights flared in her vision as her head hit the rock of the cavern with a crack.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to shake away the pain. When she opened her eyes again her vision was filled with a silver glare.

"Don't," Pitch growled, each syllable heavy with venom. "Don't you dare insinuate-"

Melinoe grit her teeth as his grip around her wrist tightened, hiding her pain as she looked up into his face and laughed. "Insinuate what? That you jumped at the chance to shove a ring on her finger once she was available? Sorry that the truth strikes such a nerve."

He snarled, baring his crooked gray teeth as if he were about to bite. "Do you think this is a game, to trifle with me?"

_Growl back or he'll walk all over you._

Melinoe rolled her eyes and smirked derisively. "Please. I'm just as much of a monster as you are now. What can you do to me? Hide under my bed, pop out and say 'boo?'"

She didn't manage to stop herself from wincing as her bones began to creak under his hold. He leaned in closer, his voice low but clear.

"As monstrous as me? Perhaps. Still, you'd do well to remember this."

There was a loud snap, and Melinoe nearly bit through her tongue to stop from crying out as white-hot pain flared through her wrist.

"You were made a monster, but I? I was born one."

"Am I interrupting something?"

Pitch stepped back, releasing his hold as his wife approached him. Melinoe swore under her breath as she cradled her hand.

"Nothing of consequence," the Boogeyman answered smoothly.

Grim's eyes narrowed as they took in the scene: the two conversationalists straight-backed and tight-lipped, Melinoe's expression tight with pain, Pitch's head held high with shoulders tense.

"Right," she said skeptically. "Well, if you're quite finished with 'nothing,' I need a word alone with my husband. Oh, and thank you for the carnations, Mel; they really brighten up the place."

'Mel' gave a nod and curtsy before beginning her trip back up to the surface. Grim beckoned Pitch to follow her and walked off, leaving him standing behind.

"Was that really necessary?" she asked curtly to empty air.

He emerged from the shadows in front of her, arms crossed. "No, it wasn't. Neither was her heckling me."

Grim sighed, pressing a hand to her brow. "I'd say you two are like cats and dogs, but frankly my grims get along far better with felines than you and Mel. Do you have to be at each other's throats all the time?"

"Perhaps we wouldn't be if she'd learn some respect. You of all people should know what that color of carnations signifies."

Grim sighed again deeply, slumping into a nearby chair. "It's because she's afraid of you, you know. Maybe if you didn't try to terrify her-"

"I'm the Boogeyman. What would you have me do, invite her over for tea and cakes?"

"Yes, or literally anything that would involve treating her as a peer and not as some child to be frightened! You want her to respect you? Show her that you recognize her as an equal, and perhaps she'll reciprocate."

Pitch scoffed. "As if that upstart could ever hope to be equal to me."

"Oh, there's no one quite like you, dear, at least not that I've seen. I'll let you know if I find a comparable ego, though."

The Nightmare King dug his fingers into his arm. "Thank goodness you're here to keep mine in check, then."

The Reaper frowned and rose from her seat, pulling his nails out of his sleeve. "You do know I didn't believe a bit of that, right?"

"Bit of what?"

"That nonsense about you and Sean. I loved him- love him, but that doesn't mean you're second best. You know that, don't you?"

Pitch bowed his head as she reached up and brushed his hair behind his ear.

"As if you would've married me otherwise."

Grim smiled and kissed his cheek.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_Earlier days_

Sean ran through the forest, heedless of the branches scratching at him, tearing his clothes. His ears rang as the cries of the mob behind him grew louder.

"Demon!"

"Fiend!"

"Burn him!"

He tripped, falling to the ground, and glimpsed a small cave nearby.

_It'll be a tight fit, but I should be able to squeeze in._

Sean crawled over to the hollow and curled inside, his bare skin pressing against cold stone. He wondered faintly what kind of rock it was- it was smooth and white, not jagged and gray like the nearby quarries.

The ground beneath him began to shift, and Sean swore.

_Fine fecking time for an earthquake!_

The mob was close. He could hear them clamoring, their boots crunching in the grass, the whinny of horses and sound of daggers being drawn. His blood ran cold.

_Do they know where I am?_

Then-

The cave lifted.

Sean was suddenly in the air, staring down wildly at the forest floor as he glimpsed the mob. Even at a distance, he could make out the terror in their faces. A few cried out, began to run.

A giant skeletal hand reached down and grabbed those attempting to flee, snatching them up. Below him, Sean heard the sound of spurting blood and snapping bones, and he realized where he was.

He hadn't climbed into a cave at all.

Biting his lip until he tasted blood, he wriggled his way out of the gashadokuro's eye socket, legs swinging perilously above gnashing teeth. He clambered his way down onto the shoulder, using the ribs as ladder rungs, his knuckles white as he reached for each handhold.

Sean fell the last few feet, landing hard on his leg. He screamed as he heard a loud crack, though he heard nothing through the ringing in his ears.

There were bodies scattered about on the forest floor, all headless, though some were also missing a neck or part of a shoulder. The mob was scattered as well, people running every which way, the 'demon' they'd been pursuing forgotten in the face of a real monster.

At least it's not eating the horses, he thought, and laughed hysterically. Then he nearly vomited.

_This thing is killing people left and right, and you're laughing like a fecking psychopath?_

"What the feck is wrong with you, Sean?" he muttered.

"Well, currently your leg is broken and I think you're on the menu of that gashadokuro. I can't help with the former, but we can at least solve the latter, hm?"

Sean's heart attempted to jump out of his throat, and he looked up to see the love of his life reaching out to him.

"Grim!"

"Come along, a ghrá. Do you mind if I call you that? I call everyone 'love' and 'darling' until I have a nickname for them, but I don't know what to do with 'Sean,'" she commented as she scooped him up in her arms.

He laughed and lifted his scarf over his face, kissing her through the fabric.

Grim squeaked. "Sean!"

The gancanagh pulled out a crushed clump of pink petals from his vest pocket. "Grim, a rúnsearc, m’fhíorghrá, mo shíorghrá. Will you marry me, love?"

The Reaper accepted the squished flower, laughing incredulously. "Of course I will, treasure, but are you really asking now?"

He shrugged, wincing as she lifted his broken leg. "Put it off long enough, haven't I?"

"Oh, you certainly have. Come on, let's go visit Tosh so we can get you fixed up."

The happy couple vanished into the woods a moment before a giant fist attempted to swipe them up.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_Later days_

"I thought you were going to put that thing at the bottom of the ocean. One more leviathan and all that, yes?"

Pitch shrugged and took a sip of wine as Grim downed a shot of whiskey. "The forest was closer."

"Well, now my husband has a gashadokuro stalking him. I don't suppose you could try relocating it?"

"My resources are currently otherwise occupied, pet."

Grim wrinkled her nose. "Ah, yes, your 'project.' You don't actually think you're going to beat Mim's little dream team this time, do you?"

"Element of surprise, a rúnsearc. They've grown comfortable, complacent: they haven't thought of me as a real threat for ages. It's the perfect time to strike."

Grim blinked blearily, her words mildly slurred. "What did you just call me?"

Pitch mentally cursed his slip of the tongue while keeping a straight face. "Something the matter, pet?"

The Reaper shook her head slightly, like a dog shedding water from its coat. "Sorry, I thought you said...something else."

Pitch lifted his glass to his lips again, fishing for a less risky subject. "So...that dearg-due you've taken a liking to. Melanie, was it?"

"Melinoe," Grim corrected, tipping her chair back onto its hind legs.

"Whatever her name is. Had any luck finding her lost ribs?"

Grim slumped dejectedly. "Nope. She's starting to lose hope."

"Hm. Might be good for her to get a reality check- she's awfully uppity, that one."

"It's good for her to have ambition outside of trying to end her existence- gives her something to strive for."

"Ambition? That little upstart tried to exert her 'control' over one of my Nightmares. You're telling me such nerve-"

Grim snorted. "Oh please. You can't blame her for testing her limits. It's all new to her. Besides, it costs you nothing. A dearg-due's hypnotic abilities would never be enough to pull control of your creatures from you."

Pitch frowned. "She nearly succeeded."

Grim blinked. "Pardon?"

"She nearly succeeded," he enunciated. "Are you quite certain this girl is just another mortal risen from the grave? Because however diminished I may be from my prime, no bloodsucker should be able to even make my Nightmares' loyalty flinch."

Grim tapped her fingers on the table. "I still can't believe you actually named them Nightmares."

"It's an accurate description."

"It's a pun. You hate puns!"

"Well, I obviously named them on your behalf."

She laughed. "Right. Because you're madly in love with me, I suppose?"

The Reaper lifted her glass before realizing it was empty, staring at the bottom of her cup absentmindedly as Pitch struggled to keep his expression blank.

_You jest about it, a rúnsearc, but that's exactly why._

_Not that I'll ever tell you._


	4. Choice

_Later days_

"Obey me," Melinoe commanded.

The Nightmare shook its head and snorted, its golden eyes briefly flickering crimson.

"Obey me," the dearg-due demanded, her blood-colored gaze searing into the creature's.

The Nightmare whinnied, breaking away from her hypnosis and dissolving into the shadows. Melinoe hissed in frustration, her nails biting into her palms.

"It's not gonna happen, lass," Sean remarked, biting into an apple and wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "That thing's under rule of the Boogeyman. You can't-"

"Don't tell me what I can and can't do, gancanagh. I nearly had it."

"Close but no cigar, darling. Luring some poor sucker into a dark alley is one thing- taming a monster is another beast entirely."

Melinoe scoffed and snapped her fingers. A tiny dragon crawled up onto her shoulder, its eyes glowing like embers against its obsidian scales, and Sean cried out. "Mel-!"

"See something, gancanagh?"

He pointed to the creature reclining by her neck. "There's a basilisk on your shoulder!"

"Indeed. Would you like to pet him?"

Sean tensed. "Mel, basilisks can turn people to stone. You know about gorgons? It's like that, except you can't sweet-talk a basilisk into leaving you alone."

Melinoe smirked and stroked the wyrm with two fingers. It pushed up into her touch, a rumbling sound emanating from its throat. "I don't know, Seany- this one is fairly receptive to flattery. Aren't you, my little cockatrice?" she cooed, twining its serpentine neck between her fingers.

The basilisk eyed Sean warily, and the gancanagh realized its red ember eyes were the exact same shade as the dearg-due's.

"You can control that thing?" he asked disbelievingly.

"But apparently not a horse with a punny name. Odd, isn't it?"

Sean shook his head, brushing his bangs out of his face. "Melinoe, this isn't normal. Dearg-dues are charmers, but they can't just bring demons under their control at the drop of a hat."

"Well, gashadokuros aren't usually brought under the spell of a gancanagh's touch, are they?"

"That's because no gancanagh's ever been stupid enough to actually try to charm a gashadokuro. I didn't mean to get that thing addicted to me."

"Don't you think it's strange it hasn't bitten your head off yet? It's had ample opportunity to."

Sean waved his hands in a cutting motion. "That's not the same as this, Mel. There's a world of difference between crossing magics that ought not be mixed and things that flat-out shouldn't be possible. What happened to me was an accident- what you're doing, it's, it's unnatural."

Melinoe rolled her scarlet eyes. "Please. I'm an undead drinker of blood, Seany- nothing about me is natural."

Sean crossed his arms. "I'm not scolding you, Mel, I just- look, I'm not pretending to know everything about our world. There are a lot of things I've yet to learn, same as you, but...this gives me a bad feeling. Just...be careful, yeah?"

The dearg-due laughed and kissed the top of the basilisk's head. "Relax. I'm not going to pull a PItch and raise a dark army to take over the world, if that's what you're worried about."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_Latest days_

Melinoe tilted Jack's chin up so her blood-red eyes were looking directly into his ice-blue ones.

"Obey me," she whispered.

Jack blinked, frowning. "What?"

"Obey me," she repeated more insistently, waiting for the telltale red glow to start staining that clear, bright gaze.

It didn't.

Jack wrinkled his nose and pulled away slightly. "Why?"

Melinoe grabbed his face and drew him in, her lips almost brushing his as she spoke. "Believe me, Little Boy Blue. It's in both our best interests if you don't resist."

She released him, her glare hardening as she put all her will into her voice. "Now, Shepherd of Winter..."

Her eyes widened, and kept widening, her form blurring at the edges as shadows began to warp around her. Jack glimpsed bones, thousands of skeletal arms and skinless fingers and skulls, taking shape around her as her body was eclipsed in an unholy crimson light.

"OBEY ME."

Her voice was dozens of voices at once, a howling chorus of ghostly screams.

Jack readied his staff, backing away from the freaky skeleton monster. "Okay, Mel, you're officially freaking me out."

The monster dissolved, and Melinoe was normal again, or at least normal as anyone with a black heart oozing smoke could be. She sighed, her tone mildly irritated, but more resigned than anything. "Well, I tried. You win, King Hobgoblin."

Before Jack could process that statement, Pitch appeared behind Melinoe, his head tilted slightly as he circled to be in front of her.

"A gallant effort, truly," he commented, offering a hand for her to shake.

She slapped it away, raising her eyebrow. "You don't seem surprised as to the outcome."

"Undead he may be, but Frost is a Guardian. Did you really think he'd fall under your sway?"

Melinoe shrugged fluidly. "It was worth a shot, wasn't it? Imagine what I could do with the power of a Guardian on my side."

"A shame you won't ever find out, isn't it?"

She glared up at the Boogeyman. "Hmph. Are you done gloating, or are you ready to actually collect on our little bet?"

Jack lifted his hands in a 'hold up' gesture. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. A bet? What are you guys talking about?"

"The leech here thought she could actually hypnotize you same as any other imp," Pitch explained.

Melinoe crossed her arms sullenly. "If I'd won, he'd let me have reign over his Nightmares for a day."

Jack looked askance. "That would've happened if you'd won the bet? I thought you said it'd be in my best interest if you managed to control me."

"Oh, it would've been," Pitch said, his tone gleeful. "Don't you want to know what I got out of this little wager?"

Jack glimpsed a wisp of smoke dart behind him and turned around.

A menagerie of monsters stood at attention, crowded in a tenebrous assembly, each staring the Guardian of Joy down with their blazing scarlet eyes.

"For someone with no intentions of conquest, the bloodsucker has amassed quite a nice collection of loyal lackeys," Pitch commented. "Then again, it's rather convenient for me, isn't it? Otherwise I doubt I'd have stood to gain much from this gamble of ours."

Jack swallowed and raised his staff. "Oh, boy..."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_Later days_

Grim tramped through the woods impatiently, glaring over her shoulder intermittently as she did so. "Mellie, the whole point of a search party is to divide and conquer. You're not helping any by following me everywhere."

The dearg-due bit her lip, wringing her hands as she trailed after the Reaper. "Why bring me to look for him? Why not Pitch, or your púca friend, or literally anyone else?"

"You know Pitch is currently occupied with his 'preparations.' And Pookie's always too busy being Mim's good little lackey to have time for much else. Now, would you stop tripping over the hem of my robe and help me find my husband?"

Melinoe stopped in her tracks and stared into the distance, a trickle of blood making its way down her chin.

Grim frowned and tapped her friend's shoulder, her expression shifting from terse to concerned in an instant. "Mel? Melty? Melon, darling, I wasn't trying to snap at you. It's just-"

"He's in there."

Melinoe pointed into a dark patch of forest where the trees stood bent and tangled, their branches forming a sort of wicker cage.

Grim blinked. "What? How are you so sure?"

"He's in there," Melinoe repeated, her voice trembling but no less certain.

The Reaper coughed. "Well, that's not much in the way of clarification, but..."

Grim slashed through the branches with a single cut from her scythe, froze, then pushed her way into the center of the copse. "Sean!"

The gancanagh lay curled in the fetal position, his hair hanging lank in his face. The Reaper ran to her spouse and knelt, cradling him in her arms as she took in his emaciated frame.

"A stór, what happened to you? The first few days you were gone I thought you were just taking some time for yourself, but then weeks later no one had seen you and I didn't understand and I was so scared and-"

Sean opened his mouth, and Grim immediately shut hers.

"A ghrá," he breathed, his voice barely audible. "A mhuirnín."

Grim burst into tears and held the gancanagh to her heart.

"Achroí," she whispered, covering her hand with her robe so she could caress his gaunt face. "A chuisle, moshíorghrá-"

"He's dying," Melinoe stated hollowly, her expression blank as she watched the reunited lovers.

Grim's eyes flickered up briefly to shoot daggers at the dearg-due.

(You think I don't know that?) she mouthed, trembling with helpless rage.

"The gashadokuro hunted him down, but not to eat him. It wanted to catch him, starve him to death, harvest his body and meld it with his own so that he would be with it always."

Grim blinked, turning to Melinoe with confusion in her face at the inexplicable amount of detail provided. "What?"

Melinoe inhaled slowly, shakily.

"Did I ever tell you how I died, Grim?"

The Reaper shook her head, ever so slightly, unsure of what Melinoe had said through the ringing in her head. Her friend didn't seem to notice. It didn't matter.

"My hometown sought to burn me as a witch, so the night I was to be executed, I set the village on fire."

Melinoe met Grim's gaze, and the red of her eyes blazed like bloody flames.

"I declared war on my town that night. I waged the first and last battle, and died amongst guilty and innocent alike. Slain in battle, Grim. That's what they were, all of them, slain by starvation or battle."

She raised a hand to the empty space in her chest.

"Do you understand?"

Grim didn't, not until she saw the gashadokuro emerge from the shadows behind her friend.

Melinoe blinked back tears as a dozen skeletal hands reached out to her. Grim did a double take, and saw a black heart pulsing in the cage of Melinoe's chest. The heart was split open, beating almost pathetically as a dark liquid dripped its way out of the wound and immediately evaporated into a tenebrous mist.

"There are magics that ought not be mixed, Reaper," the dearg-due murmured sorrowfully. "A mortal wronged by life, brought back with the ones she wronged in turn. A soul cursed with bloodthirst, and an abomination created by the same."

She laughed.

In all her years, Grim had never heard a more bitter or despairing sound.

"Did you ever suspect?" Melinoe rasped, wrapping her arms around herself as if she could shield her heart from the truth she'd just realized. "Did you ever think a dearg-due could also be part of a gashadokuro?"

Grim could only stare as her friend collapsed, crushed under the horror of her own existence.

"What I wouldn't give to be in his place," Melinoe murmured, staring at Sean longingly. "What I wouldn't give to trade this endless life to someone who deserves it."

Grim felt her stomach twist as a giant skeletal hand reached toward the gancanagh in her arms.

"Melinoe," she said, her voice breaking, the ringing in her head deafening now. "Please."

Her friend lifted her eyes.

"You owe me one, Reaper," she croaked.

Rising to her feet, Melinoe turned to the terror she was irrevocably linked to and spread her arms as if to embrace it.

"Obey me."

The gashadokuro surged forward, its form splitting, shifting, morphing into a hundred reaching arms that threw themselves around the dearg-due. Grim watched as two ribs took their rightful place over her friend's heart, and then the monster- every piece of it- was gone.

The forest went silent.

Grim turned back to Sean and clutched him closer. "A chuisle," she whispered, the words like a prayer. "A chroí."

The gancanagh lifted a frail arm and pulled her robe from her hand, uncovering her fingers. He reached up and grasped them in his own, kissing her knuckles.

"Mo shíorghrá," he whispered back, and smiled as the light faded from his eyes.

Grim pressed her lips to his forehead, his nose, his mouth, her tears streaming onto his face.

"Isbreá liom tú," she murmured, running her bare hands through his hair. "Isbreá liom tú."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_Latest days_

Jack couldn't understand why Pitch was so angry each time he lost. The Boogeyman had to be used to it by now, right?

Apparently repetition did nothing to make the Nightmare King more accommodating. If anything, Pitch seemed angrier than before. Not just irritated, either- he was vicious in his rage, almost feral.

Jack had never been scared of Pitch, not even before he became a Guardian. But he'd never seen Pitch like this before, either.

The dark army had been beaten back, and the Guardians had won again. They'd expected the Boogeyman to retreat back into the shadows, lick his wounds, vow to get revenge, the usual bit. They hadn't expected him to keep fighting. They certainly hadn't thought he'd drag Jack into the shadows.

Jack wasn't too worried about fighting Pitch- the Boogeyman's regained strength was borrowed, for one. Now isolated from his rented demon army, with few believers, Pitch wasn't much of a threat. And Jack had fended Pitch off before when no humans were able to see him, so now that he had a decent base of believers, the Guardian of Joy was pretty confident he could take the diminished Boogeyman in a one-on-one fight.

He forgot the reason he'd been able to fight Pitch back then in the first place. Pitch had been powerful then, and therefore confident- overconfident. The Nightmare King hadn't expected the Frost nobody to put up a real struggle, let alone beat him.

Jack didn't stress when Pitch struck again and again with blacksand, freezing each wave of dark magic with ease. He didn't stress when the frozen sand formed a shining obsidian wall around the two combatants, figuring the close quarters would give him a better chance of hitting his target. He didn't stress seeing the wild look in Pitch's eyes, thinking it was just panic, just desperation to win a fight for once.

Jack wasn't wrong; he just underestimated how deep that desperation ran.

He didn't see the shadows quite in time to avoid getting slammed against a wall of frozen black, couldn't get up quite in time to keep Pitch from plucking him up by his throat. The Nightmare King wasn't snarling, wasn't baring his teeth. His eyes were silver-bright with fury, but the only other sign of the rage boiling inside him were the fingers tightening around Jack's neck.

"You've grown quite powerful," he remarked in a tone far better suited for discussing the weather than speaking to a mortal (immortal?) enemy. "The Guardian's life has been good to you, Frost."

Jack choked, gurgled, clawing furiously at the fingers like iron fixed around his skin.

Pitch tilted his head. His expression looked vaguely curious, almost detached, though his inquisitive manner didn't quite work with his stare screaming murder.

"I wonder if that will save you."

Jack saw a knife appear in the Boogeyman's hand, saw him strike-

His vision filled with dark.

Jack collapsed to the ground, clutching at his throat and gasping. He looked up and realized the dark in his vision wasn't him going unconscious- it was a person, standing with a blade skewered through her heart. Not-blood the same shade as her robes leaked down her skirts, pooling on the frosted ground, like ink spilling on paper.

Grim had grabbed Pitch's wrists, pulling his hands off of Jack. Now her grip went slack, and she slumped, her husband catching her limp body.

Jack didn't move, couldn't move. He stared blankly, watching Pitch's face switch from rage to pain in an instant. The Nightmare King knelt to the ground, his mouth open and wordless. Jack glimpsed the Reaper's lips move, so slightly he wasn't sure if he'd imagined it or not.

Pitch bowed his head, leaning closer. "What?"

Grim spoke, her voice quiet but clear.

"I told you not to make me choose."

A shadow spike sprouted from Grim's ribs and stabbed Pitch in the gut.

Pitch's eyes widened as he put a hand to his side. His lips parted, a hoarse sound slipping out. Slowly it grew louder and more coherent, and Jack realized-

Pitch was laughing.

It wasn't a hysterical laugh, or a bitter one. Jack would've found either of those less disturbing than the genuine, amused laughter spilling from the Boogeyman's mouth as he bent as much as the spike in his stomach would allow.

Jack flew up over the blacksand walls, fleeing to the North Pole as fast as the wind could carry him, Pitch's laughter ringing in his ears.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_Later days_

"A little late to the party, aren't you?"

Pitch admired the silhouette of Grim's new wings. They didn't look particularly practical, at least in the way of flying, but their stark, skeletal frame was quite pleasing to his sense of aesthetics.

"Just trying to stay in character," he responded.

Grim smirked. "If you really wanted to stay in character..."

She flicked her wrist, and a golden watch appeared in her hand.

"...you could've at least worn a waistcoat to go with the watch."

She tucked the watch back into her robes. Pitch glimpsed the white flash of her throat as her hand dipped below her collar.

“You said I was invited, with or without the ears," he reminded her.

Grim chuckled, pressing a finger to her cheek. "I did."

Her eyes skimmed over him. It wasn't a piercing gaze, but Pitch felt more self-conscious underneath it than he'd have preferred.

"And you’ve chosen to go without," she added. "What a surprise.” She sucked on her lip contemplatively. "Why did you come?"

Pitch shrugged. "The company."

"Because you and the Guardians are such great friends."

Pitch reached into his own pocket. "Do you really want me to spell it out?"

"I-T. I know my letters, darling."

He pulled out the flower and presented it to her. "I came to see you."

Pitch hid his smile, reveling in her shock while ignoring the weight in his heart.

"A moss rose?" she asked incredulously.

Pitch inclined his head. "Mm. I trust you know what it signifies?"

She laughed, and Pitch felt heart dip further down in his chest. "And you're choosing to announce this now because?"

"Because," he emphasized, "there's something I want to tell you."

Grim bit her lip and nodded, indicating for him to continue.

He took a deep breath. "You are powerful. You’re feared, although I know you don’t wish to be. But even though you’re not all what people see you as, you are of the dark, like me, and-"

Grim raised a hand. "If this is a ‘pitch’ to have us join forces and conquer the world, I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline, darling. You know very well what I think of your attempts to stamp out Mim’s minions before their time. We have some things in common, but a wish to return the world to what it was before Mim is not one of them.”

Pitch reached into his pocket again, focusing on keeping his hand steady, willing his fingers not to tremble. "I understand, but there’s another way you could join me.”

Her eyes widened when she saw the box. He clicked it open, showing her the ring inside, and she inhaled sharply. She let out the breath and met his gaze, her lips twitching.

"You certainly don’t leave a girl hanging, I’ll say,” she joked, twining a lock of her hair around her finger.

Pitch sighed. "I know it's sudden."

"I should hope you know it's sudden! I didn't even know you loved me until a minute ago, and now-"

He frowned. "Only a minute ago? What about last week?”

Grim shook her head. “There’s a world of difference between caring about someone and loving them, dear.”

His heart somewhere in his stomach, Pitch gripped his arm, his nails pressing through cloth into skin. "You said you loved me."

"I wasn't lying, but-"

Pitch stepped forward. "But?"

Grim tugged at the chain around her neck, the metal bruising her throat. “But my question still stands. Why tell me now? Why ask me now? I’ve been married before, and you’ve never said a word. I haven’t been with anyone since Se-”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “I don’t understand. You’ve never showed an interest in romancing me.”

He stopped himself from reaching for her hand. “I don’t have an interest in romancing you. My offer isn’t out of any misguided altruism either. I know you don’t need me.”

Grim opened her eyes and lifted her hand to her heart, her mouth halfway to a disbelieving smile. “Then why are you asking me to marry you?”

Pitch bowed his head. “I do love you. Not as I would a lover, perhaps, but I think it’s safe to say you wouldn’t wish me your paramour in any case. I want you to be mine as I am yours, as I’ve always been yours. We will always be together, but I want to know if you would choose to be with me, of your own volition.”

The Reaper laughed. “You don’t want to be alone, do you? You’ve gotten lonely, now that you’re powerless and you’re not focusing on that ridiculous revenge plan. You could just try going out more, you know.”

“I wouldn’t be proposing if that’s all there was to it," he growled.

“But that’s why you’re proposing now, isn’t it? Why you’ve never asked before. You’ve been forced to face how alone you are in the world.”

He lifted his eyes to hers. “…I would’ve asked eventually, regardless.”

Grim looked into his face for what seemed an eternity.

“And if I say no?”

Pitch felt his heart shatter, the pieces piercing his insides. Swallowing, he forced himself to speak through the sensation of broken glass in his gut. “You weren’t obligated to say yes.”

She fiddled with her necklace. “Of course I wasn’t, but if you’d have thought so we’d have a problem."

He almost laughed, biting his lip until he felt his teeth break skin. He composed himself as he focused on Grim's next words.

"You do realize how much power I’d have over you?”

“No more than I’d have over you," he replied evenly.

She crossed her arms. “I’m not giving you my answer now."

Pitch gave into his impulse and snatched up her hand, pressing his lips to her fingers briefly before speaking. “Then let me know when you’re giving it.”

He stepped away and vanished into the shadows.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_Latest days_

Grim opened her eyes and began to sit up. A vicious, lancing pain informed her she'd best abandon such notions.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, my dear."

The Reaper glanced over at her husband before looking down at the stitches lining her chest.

"These aren't your work, are they?" she inquired skeptically.

The Nightmare King snorted. "North's wife is responsible for those. Against all odds, I was extended the same hospitality."

"'Against all odds?' Tosh is a good person- she doesn't only help when something's in it for herself, unlike some," Grim retorted.

Pitch winced as he examined the stitches along his torso critically. "I heard her beloved spouse persuading her to fix me up, and you know how fond he is of me. Apparently Mrs. Claus's value of 'all life is precious' doesn't apply to monsters."

Grim rolled her eyes. "Life is overrated. It's not like you could've died anyway."

The Boogeyman strolled over to the bed and lay down next to his wife, resting his head on his arm as he stretched out on his uninjured side. "I'd prefer not to spend the next few decades losing consciousness due to pain. And even if your heart doesn't beat, it's better to have it tended to when it's wounded, yes?"

Grim chuckled, then tensed as her wound protested the jolting movement of such an action. "Ha, agh. Knew you were a heartbreaker, heh heh."

Pitch raised his eyes heavenward as he drew the Reaper closer to him. "Good to know your dubious sense of humor came out intact from that little debacle."

Grim set her head on his chest. "Hm. Love you too, darling."

The Boogeyman kissed the top of her head and closed his eyes.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_Later days_

"I've decided to accept your offer, by the by."

Pitch blinked, somehow managing to speak around the heart that had suddenly jumped up to his throat. "Oh?"

Grim lifted her left hand, displaying the black ring on her finger. "Thought you might like to know. You'll put yours on now, yes?"

He'd been wearing his ever since he'd left her alone in the workshop, but such information didn't need to be shared. Instead, he raised his own left hand, the ring glinting like obsidian next to his pinky.

Grim nodded decisively. "It's settled, then."

She grabbed his left hand with her right and intertwined their fingers. A black chain bled from between their palms and wrapped around their wrists.

Pitch let his gaze flicker to her content expression and allowed himself a smirk before lightly squeezing her hand, watching a ribbon of shadow snake its way around their clasped hands, tying them together, binding them.

He felt the darkness of the grave combine with his own lightless world, her ability to guide souls mingling with his command of the night, her power and his becoming one.

They stood there, man and wife, and smiled.

_Fin_


End file.
